Fort Durk was unremarkable, as far as forts go. People came through, paid the toll, and that was that. The old fort was decrepit and hardly defensible. A few towers surrounded a rusty portcullis, hugging Cyraed Trail, an old elf-street. Cyraed was told to be protected by the wild elves, so few ever tried to cross it.
Night was just creeping over the Fort, and it brought a certain chill. Sitting, though they were supposed to be standing were a pair of guards, one squat, one tall. They sat on the left side of the portcullis. Their cudgels lay at their side.
"You think we're gonna get anymore folk?" Yeoman, the tall one, asked. "We could sneak off, maybe have a drink."
The short one, Erik, eyed his friend. Yeoman was old, jaded with the state of the Republic. Sneaking off was no way for an agent of The Eagle King to act.
But Erik was tired, his feet were freezing, and he didn't want to stare at this creepy forest any longer. 'Sure, let's away." He said quietly.
The pair started their way back, crossing the archway of Fort Durk, relieved to finally get some time to relax. Erik approached the chain that suspended the portcullis and started to pull it. It started to lower, slowly but surely.
Then, there was a shout. Erik looked and saw a distant light, pale-blue. A wizard's light. Erik gave a shout to Yeoman, who had started on the trail back to the city. Yeoman turned and saw the ghostly light drifting across the Cyraed trail.
A tall figure, atop a horse, rode towards the gate. He held an icy flame in his off hand that he held high above his head, while the other gripped the saddle to keep him upright. He bellowed again, his voice amplified by some spell, "BID ME ENTRY!" it filled the entire fort, shaking a chunk of masonry loose.
"Wizards." Yeoman growled as Erik set the lever back with considerable effort. "Think they're the center of the world, don't they." The portcullis stalled.
The figure drew closer. They could now make out a few of his features. He had an aged face which ended in a gray beard, poking out from under a dark blue cloak. The oddest thing, though, was his horse. It seemed to be made of luminescence, silvery and faintly glowing like a torch-bug.
The wizard reined the horse back as he approached. "How much?" He rasped, already digging into his coin purse. Erik opened his mouth to speak, and the wizard shouted, "Spit it out, boy! I have realms to save!"
Erik shook his head. Wizards really were crazy. "3 Princes, sir. And I'm going to need your reason for transit, and your true name." The boy normally didn't say, "True" name, but he felt it necessary now. He had heard about a mage's propensity to use fake names to avoid hexes and the like. Yeoman pulled a thick sheet of parchment from a scroll case he kept on his belt, and a quill.
The mage slapped 3 silver coins, engraved with the likeness of the late prince Teodric, into Eriks hand. He kept checking behind him, mouth just barely open.
"Son, we're going to need your reason and your real, godly name." Yeoman said, tucking a thumb into his belt loop The cloaked man looked to them as he remembered. "Oh, right, my name is Garrick Degener, and I'm on duty for the king. Not that he knows it, yet."
Erik looked up and saw the mans serious expression. "Right. Could I get your actual reason, please?"
Garrick groaned. "Fine. To you, I'm on holiday." Yeoman eyed the spectral horse, currently trying to chew on some grass. It was failing, as it's snout just phased through everything it tried to touch. 'What's with the horse?" Yeoman asked blankly. Garrick spat, "What?"
"What's with your... glowy ghost horse?" He asked. Garrick shook his head, as if trying to comprehend this man's stupidity, and then said, "It's a construct. I constructed it from strands of mana. Can I go now?" Yeoman nodded to Erik who turned to pull the lever again. "Oh, wait!" Garrick shouted, loud enough to make the guards jump. "If a boy comes through here, scraggly hair, glasses, and a blue cloak, give this to him. And... tell him he's... tell him he's worth something to me. He's worth a lot." The wizard reached into his robes and pulled out a cloth wrapped package, about the size of an apple. Yeoman took it as if it were about to explode.
"We're not a postage service." Yeoman growled. Garrick handed him a Queen, and he suddenly discovered that they were a postage service.
The gate rose, and Garrick rode into the night, towards the city of Thremiir. "What a weirdo." Erik muttered. "Drinks?"
